The song of
the bees busy in the herb-garden was very pleasant to his ear, the
warm, still air overcame him, and he slept. Suddenly he heard a
voice calling--a voice he knew in every fibre of his being and yet
could set no name to, for it was the voice of God. He arose in
haste and went out into the garth, and lo! under the lilies
Hilarius lay sleeping. The Prior stood fast in great wonder, his
heart leaping for joy; yet he could not cross the little piece of
grass that lay between the cloister and the farmery door.
As he watched, a woman, light of foot and of great beauty, came
swiftly from the gate to where Hilarius slept; and the Prior was
grieved, and marvelled that the porter had opened to such an one;
for it was a grave scandal that a woman should set foot within the
Monastery precincts. He strove to cry, but his voice died on his
lips, and his feet were as lead.
The woman stayed when she came to the sleeping lad, and stooped to
arouse him, but he slept on. She called him, and her voice was as
the calling of the summer sea on a shelving beach; but Hilarius
gave no heed.
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